


Better Than Expected

by summercarntspel



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-War, Cute, Dreams and Nightmares, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Old Friends, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercarntspel/pseuds/summercarntspel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye Pierce is happy, living a content life as a pediatrician after the war, but all that might change when an unexpected visitor, Trapper, shows up at his door asking for a place to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Expected

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over two days, so I'm not sure if it's perfect, but my lovely Swedish pal Vev read it and loved it, so I'm hoping all of you will feel the same! Let me know, please!

Things were going well. Things were going really well. In fact, things were going really really well, and that wasn't sarcasm, either. 

It had been nearly two and a half years since the end of the war, and Hawkeye was happily settled in Crabapple Cove once again. He and BJ still talked on the phone at least once a week, and he devoted hours of his free time to writing letters to others, like Margaret and Colonel Potter, Radar and even Charles. 

He had his own practice, even though it wasn't the kind he originally planned to have. He was a pediatrician now, but he helped the surgeons at the nearest hospital with their harder cases when they asked nicely enough.

Hawkeye even had his own house, a street over from his father's place, and lived a happy, content little life. He hadn't found a wife, or a husband, for that matter, but he really didn't feel the need to commit to anything. He was still young, despite the fact that the war had aged him about a hundred years, and he was perfectly happy to just go on casual dates now and then. 

All in all, as he stirred a bubbling pot of soup, warming it up for an early dinner after it made such a great late dinner the night before, Hawkeye's life was pretty good. If you asked, he might even be tempted to tell you it was going great.

Humming along to a happy little tune playing on the radio he had on the corner counter, Hawkeye flicked off the heat and dished himself out a helping of the soup, filling a glass with water before he settled down at the small kitchen table. His spoon was halfway to his mouth when there was a knock on his front door.

“Who could that be?” Hawkeye mumbled to himself, arching an eyebrow as he stood up from the table, running his fingers through his hair in case it was someone important. It couldn't be his father, since he never knocked, and the neighbors usually called before making a visit, since they never really knew when he was home and conscious enough to be neighborly. 

Regardless, he walked casually to the door, glancing in the mirror hanging in the hallway, just checking to be sure he looked decent enough for whoever it was. He shaved and washed his hair that morning, so that area was okay, and his checked shirt was buttoned all the way up, collar laying flat. When he got back into civilian clothes, he decided he preferred to look a little less like a slob.

The door swung open, and the person on the front porch was the last one Hawkeye ever expected to see there.

It was Trapper. Trapper John McIntyre, curly hair, honey brown eyes, and crooked grin. The hair was a little grayer, there were a few more wrinkles around the eyes, and the teeth might have been a bit more yellow, but it was Trapper all the same.

And all Hawkeye could do was stare, mouth open, not a word coming out.

“So... Hi.” Trapper began a bit awkwardly, clearing his throat and scuffing the toe of his tennis shoe against the wood of the porch, trying to meet Hawkeye's eyes but glancing down at his feet as soon as the connection was made, “Remember me?”

Hawkeye's head bobbed up and down slowly, his heart beginning to race as he took in the sight of Trapper wearing something other than a gold bath robe over olive drab underwear. He was in a sweater and dark jeans that clung to him in all the right places, shoes that were probably white at some point splattered with mud and grass stains.

Still, he looked great. And that wasn't sarcasm, either.

“Look, I know I didn't call, but...” Trapper sighed, biting his lip nervously, “I need somewhere to stay. Louise just kicked me out a few days ago. She found out I was cheating... Well, she found out that I had cheated on her while I was away and didn't believe me when I said I stopped when I got home... Can I just stay here until I get back on my feet?”

Hawkeye wanted to tell him no. He wanted to offer Trapper one of the only salutes he ever bothered to use in the army, the kind that only involved one particular finger. He wanted to slam the door and go back to his soup and forget this little interaction ever happened, but he couldn't.

He didn't know why, but he couldn't. He felt like throwing up, his hands were shaking, and he didn't want to deal with this, but he couldn't tell Trapper to leave.

He couldn't do that, so he did the only thing he was able to do.

He stepped about half a foot to the side, gestured weakly with his arm, and choked out the words, “Come on in.”

~~~

Hawkeye ended up scooping out some soup into a bowl for Trapper, who was more than happy to accept it, mentioning something about only eating the peanuts on the plane ride since the previous afternoon, and they sat at the table in silence, taking careful bites and slow sips of their water. The silence was comfortable, and it was disturbingly similar to the way it felt when they would sit together in the Swamp, gulping down glasses of gin in total silence for hours on end, saying everything they needed to with expressions on their faces and gestures.

After two hours, a couple bowls of soup, and Trapper settling his luggage in the guest room upstairs, the two retired to the cozy living area, both cradling a bottle of beer, the radio playing something upbeat and happy, the only light coming from a small lamp on the one of the end tables.

“So... you seem to be, uh, doing well,” Trapper smiled softly, taking a sip of his beer and letting out a slow sigh, socked feet perched on the coffee table, “Got your own practice?”

Hawkeye nodded, the liquid courage slowly melting away what was left of the tension he was feeling. It was like they had never been separated, their friendship feeling just as strong as it had before Trapper left.

“Yeah, I'm the local pediatrician now. The kids love me,” Hawkeye smiled, tilting his head to the side, unsure of how Trapper would react to that, “Well, they love the lollipops they get after their check-ups, at least, and that's close enough for me.”

Trapper nodded, smiling slightly at the thought of Hawkeye, the man who had managed to sack three nurses in the course of one evening while they were still living in that little sardine can of a tent, the man who had glued Frank Burns to the seat of the latrine, now taking care of little girls with pigtails and little boys who babbled about their toy cars. 

To be honest, Hawkeye looked happier than he ever had before, which wasn't surprising, but it war great. Happy looked good on Hawkeye.

“That's great... I'm glad you're doing well for yourself, Hawk,” Trapper sighed, taking a sip of the beer he was cradling between his palms, “I worked in the hospital, but I'm, uh, taking some time off... You know, to get myself back together.”

Hawkeye nodded, wishing he could find the motivation to ask about the way Trapper left, ask why he never wrote, never called, never did a damn thing to get in touch, but he couldn't. He wanted to, God he wanted to, that wasn't the problem... The words were on the very tip of his tongue, burning to come out, but every time he tried to open his mouth to let them go free, he felt more and more nauseated.

If he forced them, he knew he'd just wind up throwing up all over everything, and he didn't feel like cleaning vomit at that moment.

Luckily, he didn't have to say anything at all. Trapper seemed to understand that he was struggling, so he finished off his bottle of beer and smiled, clapping Hawkeye on the shoulder and glancing towards the stairs. 

“Look, thanks for letting me stay here... I'll find a way to pay you back, but right now, I think I'd like to go get some shut-eye, if that's okay with you.”

Hawkeye nodded, taking the empty bottle from Trapper and smiling tightly, licking his dry lips and clearing his throat, “Yeah, I, uh... That's fine, go on. Goodnight, Trap.”

“'Night, Hawk,” Trapper smiled yet again, getting to his feet and walking over to the stairs, ascending them slowly, feeling Hawkeye's eyes on him the entire time.

~~~

It had been nearly two weeks since Trapper got to the house, and things were going even better than either of them could have anticipated. Much better than Hawkeye could, at least.

Until, of course, a loud, gasping shout woke him out of a sound sleep, scaring him half to death in the process. He hadn't heard that kind of noise since... Well, since the last time Trapper had a nightmare over in Korea. And, if history decided to repeat itself, like it so often did, Trapper would be searching for comfort any second.

The quiet knock on his bedroom door told Hawkeye he was right.

“C-Can I come in?” Trapper whispered, voice shaking as he opened the door just a crack, looking in on Hawkeye, tucked under his blankets, bleary blue eyes open wide and alert. When he got a nod, Trapper stepped inside the room carefully.

As soon as Hawkeye took in the full sight of him, he felt like all the air in his lungs had been punched out. Trapper was standing there, all hard edges and messy hair, wearing nothing but an old undershirt and a pair of striped shorts, sweating from the bad dream, eyes clouded with tears. And yet, somehow, some way, he looked so painfully beautiful Hawkeye wanted to scream.

“What happened?” Hawkeye asked, sitting up and patting the spot on the mattress next to where he was, “What was the dream about, Trap?”

Trapper shuddered, letting out a broken sigh before he padded over to the bed, sitting beside Hawkeye stiffly, knuckling at his eyes to hide the tears there, a habit he had picked up after the first time Frank saw him after a nightmare and laughed at the streak marks on his face. 

“I was... I was back there, back in the O.R... Bodies were piled up everywhere and I couldn't... I couldn't save anyone, couldn't help anyone...” Trapper started, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I kept screaming for help, screaming for someone to help me, but no one came... I looked down and everyone... Everyone was dead at my feet, Hawk. You were there... You, Frank, Margaret, H-Henry... Even little Radar, bloody and clutching that stupid teddy bear... Everyone was dead and I was covered in blood and I couldn't do a damn thing and I kept hearing someone saying I wasn't doing enough, that I was letting everyone down...”

At that point, Trapper completely broke down, unable to stop himself from sobbing uncontrollably, shaking and nearly smacking his head against the headboard of Hawkeye's bed.

“Oh... Trapper, it's okay... Come here, Trap, it's okay...” Hawkeye frowned, gently tugging Trapper into his arms, covering him with the comforter, “Trapper, I'm right here. I'm right here and it's all okay.”

Trapper continued to cry until he was worn out, nearly asleep as he wiped at his eyes, nuzzling his face into Hawkeye's neck. 

“'M sorry... Sorry, Hawkeye...” Trapper mumbled, voice raw and sad, “I'm sorry. Lemme go back to bed... I need to go back to bed...”

Hawkeye smiled, running his hand up and down Trapper's back soothingly, carefully, trying to get him to relax. “You can sleep here, Trap. I don't mind. We've shared smaller before.”

And they had, too. After a particularly bad dream, Trapper would beg to share Hawkeye's cot, and Hawkeye could never tell him no. So, more than once, two grown men piled on top of each other to fit into a tiny, narrow cot, both sleeping more peacefully than they ever did when they slept alone.

“Don't wanna put you out...” Trapper frowned, lifting his head up to blink at Hawkeye, head tipped to the side, “Already doin' that...”

“Hey, kiddo, the last thing you need to be talking about while sharing my bed is putting out,” Hawkeye laughed quietly, rolling the both of them onto their sides, “You're not putting me out, Trap, it's fine. You're my buddy, my friend, and I'm just comforting you, okay?”

Trapper didn't answer, just snuggled closer and let out a snuffling little snore, nose buried in Hawkeye's old t-shirt, one of Hawkeye's arms holding him close.

And if the whole situation caused Hawkeye's stomach to do silly, boyish flips, little butterflies fluttering around inside it, he would just have to ignore it all and go to sleep. It could be dealt with in the morning. Or never. Whichever came first, really.

~~~

It had been a month. A month had gone by without a single word about the war, other than during the two nightmares Trapper had gone through since he arrived. Not a single word was spoken about the way Trapper left. Not a single word about the lack of communication until Trapper suddenly showed up at his door, asking for a place to stay.

Not a single damn word, and Hawkeye was sick of it. He had finally gotten up the courage and gumption to go and talk to Trapper, even if it took three and a half shots of liquid courage in order to make him okay with it.

So, just after ten o'clock at night, Hawkeye pushed himself up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table, letting out a slow sigh as he felt the effects of those shots starting to set in a bit. After all his alcoholism during the war, it did take a bit more to get him hammered, and he wanted to be coherent, so he made sure to avoid overdoing it. 

“Here goes nothin',” Hawkeye slurred to himself, shaking his head in order to try to clear it as he stumbled up the steps, knocking loudly on Trapper's bedroom door before letting himself in, standing almost nervously in the doorway.

Trapper was lying in bed, reading from a thick book, looking so interested that he didn't notice Hawkeye for a good ten seconds. When he did, he smiled a bit, marking his page before he closed the book with a clap and tossed it aside, sitting up on his elbows. “Now that looks more like the Hawkeye Pierce I remember.”

“Mmm... I have a question for you, Dr. Trapper “High-and-Mighty” McIntyre, so, if you don't mind, I'll see myself in,” Hawkeye grunted, walking over and plopping himself down on the guest bed, eyes a bit glazed over but still in complete control, “You mind?”

Trapper looked a bit taken aback, shrugging his shoulders up a bit before he shook his head, “No, ask away... I'm an open book.”

“If that's the case, then why did you do it?” Hawkeye demanded, glaring fiercely at Trapper and not uttering another word.

“Do what?” 

“You know damn well what I'm talking about, Trapper, don't play stupid with me,” Hawkeye shook his head, “Why did you leave like you did? You didn't even leave me a note! You never called or wrote or did anything! You were my best friend in the whole damn world and all you leave me is a kiss on the cheek from a third-party? That was a bit rude, don't you think?”

Trapper thought about it for a moment, glancing down at the soft comforter, hands clutching the edge of it nervously, “I suppose it was a little rude.”

“Then why did you do it? I don't give a damn anymore, it's behind us, but I demand to know why. I'm not having you stay here any longer if you can't give me a straight answer.”

The silence that followed was nearly deafening. It wasn't that comfortable silence they'd grown so fond of... It was uncomfortable, tense, angry...

Then, Trapper shrugged, glancing up to meet Hawkeye's sad blue eyes his nose wrinkling up a bit, “You want an answer? You want the real answer? Fine. I was in love with you, Hawkeye. I was completely head-over-heels. And leaving the way I did was the only way I would have been able to leave at all.”

At that moment, Hawkeye went from curious and sad to livid. Absolutely livid, to be more accurate. 

“You loved me? What the hell, Trapper?” Hawkeye practically screamed, pushing himself up to his feet once more, hands on his hips as he stared down at the other man, anger and hurt flashing in his eyes, “Trapper, you knew I had feelings for you, too. You had to know. You knew I wasn't... You knew I wasn't strictly into women! You knew and you just left, you basta-”

At that moment, all thoughts drained out of Hawkeye's brains through his ears. Trapper tugged on him until he fell back onto the bed with an ungraceful 'oomph', then Trapper's lips were covering his.

That kept up for some time, as kisses that were long-overdue often did, and by the time they pulled away, both men were a little breathless and completely satisfied.

“You little shit,” Hawkeye giggled, feeling giddiness and happiness replace his previous feelings of anger and hurt, sending him soaring up to new heights, “You're awful.”

Trapper shrugged, a rueful grin on his face, “Hey now, I'm just a little out of practice. I'm sure I'll get better at kissing once we give it a few more tries.”

“Why do I feel like I've been played this whole time?” Hawkeye asked suddenly, supporting his head on his hand as he stared into Trapper's deceptive brown eyes, “Louise never kicked you out, did she?”

Trapper shrugged, a bit of a guilty look crossing his face, a sheepish smile replacing his grin, “Well... It was kind of a mutual thing. I confessed my love for you when I got home and we thought it would just be better to stay friends...”

Hawkeye's eyes grew to about twice their normal size, his head spinning, “You... You've been planning this since you left? Damn it, the war's been over for two years and you got out before that!”

“...I'm sorry?”

“Damn it, Trapper, I hate you,” Hawkeye groaned, collapsing against the pillow and staring up at the ceiling, only to have his waist straddled by the very main he claimed to hate moments later, “Hey, don't you start...”

“You don't hate me...” Trapper smirked, leaning down to steal another kiss, giggling when he felt Hawkeye's hands come up to grab his shoulders, only to travel down his back to get at his bottom, giving it a squeeze and causing him to let out a squawk and another little giggle.

“You're right, I don't hate you...” Hawkeye grinned, rolling them over and pinning Trapper to the bed, “I love you, and I think I'd like to prove it to you now, if that's okay with you.”

And Trapper just nodded, laughing again as he let Hawkeye take control, unable to keep his mind off the fact that this was really, really, really turning out better than expected.


End file.
